Inside Man | ONC2023

2. The Apartment | 2K Milestone

(Author's Note: This chapter is dedicated to  Cocosghost and her exciting paranormal adventure for the ONC 2023, Ghosts  - Blackbeard's Treasure!)

Tired and sweaty, Paul pushed open the door to his apartment. No matter how much the victims might have deserved it, killing always took a personal toll. He supposed he should be grateful. If he ever reached that point where he no longer felt anything, he would be no better than those he hunted. He had tried though, he really had. He had been quite clear in his ultimatum.

"I'm armed. Throw down your weapons and surrender. On your knees with your hands behind your head this instant, if you want to live."

That was clear enough, wasn't it? Apparently not.

He lifted a panel in the ceiling and opened the hidden safe with a retina scan and a thumb print. He took out the envelopes he had collected and placed them inside, along with the two stunners he had confiscated, and locked the safe. He'd analyse the data later.

Paul ran a hand through his short dark hair and rolled his neck from side to side. What he needed right now was a hot shower and then a few solid hours of sleep. But the scent of lemon-jasma wafting out of his bedroom told him he probably wasn't going to get it.

"Mikel? Is that you? Are you in my room?" For the first time, Paul found himself wishing he hadn't given his current lover the code to his apartment. He'd meant it to be a sign of their increasing commitment, not an invitation to move in. Tonight, for instance, he just wanted to be alone.

There was a pointed silence.

Rather belatedly, Paul dropped his hand to his weapon. He supposed Mikel wasn't the only one who favoured that rather cloying scent.

"Who's that?" The voice had an odd tone but it was definitely Mikel's. Paul lifted his hand from his stunner and stepped forward.

"It's me. Who did you think it was?" he asked, raising his voice a little to be heard through the door.

"Paul?"

"Of course it's Paul!" he answered, irritated more than amused now. Just who had Mikel been expecting, for Neb's sake?

Mikel opened the door and came out of the bedroom, fastening a towel around his waist, his blond hair still damp from the shower. He smiled placatingly. "Sorry. I wasn't expecting you back for a few days."

"No, well I finished the job early," said Paul, aware he was sounding grumpy, but unable to help himself. Mikel came toward him and lifted his face invitingly for a kiss.

"Well, now that you're home, let's see if I can cheer you up," he smiled, and dropped the towel.

~~~

Paul woke feeling groggy and disoriented. The room was dark except for the small green light on the console unit which cast a faint, sickly glow, from the opposite wall.

His stomach roiled unpleasantly. What the fuck had he drunk last night? And how much? He couldn't remember, in fact he couldn't remember much at all. His stomach gave a warning heave. He staggered as quickly as he could toward the open bathroom and only just managed to reach the toilet in time.

Eventually, he stood up and washed his face, scooping up a handful or two of water from the tap to rinse his mouth. Feeling only marginally more alert, he went back into the bedroom. He needed a large drink of water and some heavy-duty painkillers, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember where he'd stored them.

He turned on the light, and blinked.

There was a strange man lying on his bed, on top of the covers. He was young, blond and naked. How awkward! He had absolutely no idea who he was. He must have picked him up at the party he couldn't remember attending.

Still queasy, he went into the kitchen, got a cold beaker of water from the dispenser and drank it down. Then he went back to the bathroom and found the painkillers where he should have expected, in the cupboard above the sink.

When he returned to the bedroom, he saw the man was exactly in the same position, he had not moved even a millimetre.

Paul frowned. The blond man must be a very heavy sleeper not to be disturbed by all the noise he had been making. Was he sleeping or passed out?

He went across and touched his shoulder.

"Hey, you okay? Want some water?"

There was no answer. It took Paul's brain some moments to process the facts that the shoulder was unnaturally stiff and the man wasn't responding to his touch. He shook him harder but there was no reaction.

Fuck! Should he call for help or was it already too late? Automatically, he checked for breath and heart beat but there was nothing. Some part of his brain told him in clinical terms that the man had been dead for a couple of hours at least.

How did he know that sort of thing?

No matter, he had to call the authorities. But first he was going to get dressed. A few more minutes weren't going to make any difference to the man on the bed but he'd feel a lot better wearing clothes when he confronted the emergency services.

He crossed to the storage units and opened doors until he found what he wanted. None of the items looked particularly familiar, but he chose a pair of dark grey trousers and a light grey top which seemed plain and serviceable.

For the first time it occurred to him that this might not be his apartment. Perhaps that was why everything seemed so unfamiliar. Perhaps it belonged to the other man. But the clothes fit well enough, so that was good. He went back into the bedroom to look for his own shoes, the pair he must have taken off the night before.

Ah there they were, under the bed, next to that old bag. He bent to pick them up and froze.

What the fuck?

The bag was full of credits, old fashioned polymer ones that, in theory, didn't leave a trail. Most people these days preferred to conduct their transactions via net transfer, but there was a sizeable group who insisted on keeping the old money as an option. Usually remote communities and people wanting to engage in private transactions.

Paul stared at the cash. There must be hundreds there, maybe thousands. What possible reason could he, or anyone, have for keeping that much cash on hand? His brain might not be firing on all rockets at the moment, but off hand, he couldn't think of a single legitimate purpose. He supposed it must belong to the dead man, but its presence changed everything.

A dead one-night stand was bad enough, but a dead stranger and a bag full of cash was something else entirely.

For the first time, it occurred to him to question how the man had died. His initial thought, when he'd first realised he was dead, had been a drug overdose. He was young and apparently fit and it had seemed the obvious answer. There were no obvious signs of foul play, no gaping knife wounds, or burn marks such as might have been left by a stunner on 'kill'.

He moved to examine the body more closely, but was interrupted by the sounds of a hovercar coming nearer and nearer, outside the apartment block.

Suddenly, the room was flooded with light. The spotlight from the hovercar scanned the room for a fraction of an instant before it fixed on the body. Before Paul could react, there was a tremendous thump on the apartment door.

"Open Up! Patrol!"

(Word count  to this point is 2080, not counting Author's Notes. First Milestone reached!)